


Stark, Targaryen, Snow

by Misophonia



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: All the same weak-ass dialogue from the show, F/M, but now with more information inbetween!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 07:42:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18912541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misophonia/pseuds/Misophonia
Summary: ONE SHOT. Jon struggles between loyalty and duty. What happens when duty and honor are at war with duty and honor of another kind? Where does loyalty reside then? Where does love? What is good and what is bad then? And how can he do the most impossible thing anyone has demanded of him when all he wants to do is love Daenerys Targaryen?





	Stark, Targaryen, Snow

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is my pitiful take on what went down in the throne room between Jon and Dany because the showrunners clearly have issues with writing dialogue this season and just expect everyone to automatically know what is happening between the words. Even actors can only do so much! Also, feel free to comment to tell me your thoughts (good or bad) about my take below. However, please don't use the comment box to yell at me about issues that really are about the show. Thanks.

Jon ached at the sight of her. Dany, abloom in happiness, as she spoke of the Iron Throne and seized the destiny that should have always been hers. Others may say he held the better claim to the throne due to his birth, but it was Dany who’d truly earned it.

And she could be a just ruler. He knew she could—no matter what Tyrion or Arya or Varys had ever said. They didn’t know her. Not like he did. They didn’t love her. Not like he did. She’d been vital to their defeat of the Night King. If her dragons hadn’t been there, if her forces weren’t there … all would have been lost. Couldn’t they see that? And she’d suffered so much in the time since. The loss of her dragons, Missande, and the betrayals and whispers from those who’d once sworn to support her. No, these last months were a fierce storm few could have weathered half as well as Daenerys Stormborn had.

But she couldn’t go on as she had. Dany had to see reason. She had to understand the impact of her actions and why they could no longer continue.

“I saw them executing Lannister soldiers in the street,” Jon said, unable to put this off a moment longer. He watched the childlike happiness freeze on her face. “They were acting on your orders.”

“It was necessary,” she replied. The sputtering blink of her eyes told him she didn’t wholly believe that.

“Necessary?” He countered. _She must understand._ “Have you been down there? Have you seen? Children, little children burned!”

“I tried to make peace with Cersei. She used their innocence as a weapon against me. She thought it would cripple me.” Her tone was calm, but he could see the fear in her eyes. Whether that stemmed from a worry that he would go the way of Tyrion or from a fear that he saw her as a monster, he did not know.

“And Tyrion?” he said. He looked away a moment, desperate to find the right words. Swordplay he knew. Persuasion was infinitely harder. In this case, it seemed impossible. But there was hope. He knew there was. He could feel it. Dany was a good person. He loved her. She loved him. Her people loved her. She loved them. He just had to make her see that the people of Westeros were her people, too, that she owed them a ruler who understood the benefit of mercy.

“He conspired behind my back with my enemies,” she said, coldly. “How have you treated people who have done the same to you?”

Her words were arrows, and every one found their target. An unwilling memory flashed before him. _For the Watch_ echoed through his mind. Another memory followed. Worse, heavier, burning. Four men with ropes around their necks.

“Even when it broke your heart?” Dany added.

 _Ollie._ His breath caught in his throat as he croaked, “Forgive him.”

Surprise flooded her features for the briefest of moments before they hardened into resolve. “I can’t.”

“You can.”

Surprise returned, but this time tinged in outrage. Jon pressed his advantage. “You can forgive all of them, make them see they made a mistake, make them understand.” She seemed so unsure of herself in that moment. Hope rose in his chest. “Please, Dany,” he begged.

Her gaze scattered about the room. “We can’t hide behind small mercies.”

Anger rose in him. _Didn’t she understand? How could she be this blind?_ He stared at her, imploringly.

“The world we need won’t be built by the men loyal to the world we have,” Dany said, and Jon realized she was looking just as earnestly at him. Somehow, that did not make him feel at ease. This was not an argument he could lose. There could be no compromise. It must be all or nothing. It was much like the battle with the Night King. To lose here would mean the deaths of so many innocents and everything he held dear.

“The world we need is a world of mercy. It has to be!”

She closed the distance between them. “And it will be,” she said, attempting to soothe him. “It’s not easy to see something that has never been before.”

Dany was smiling, eyes once more full of happiness and hope for what would be. He wished he could share in that with her. But all he could feel was a growing dread that threatened to choke the life out of him. Any hope he’d held dwindled a little closer to nothingness with each word she uttered.

“A good world,” she whispered. Her love for him was apparent. Jon could see it, he could feel it. It was nearly as strong as the love he held for her.

“How do you know it will be good?” he asked. Hope struggled to make its last stand, raised its sword against the enemy of doubt. _Maybe she isn’t all wrong. Maybe there is a compromise to be found here._

“Because I know what is good,” she answered, “and so do you.”

And like that night so long ago in his memory, he felt like a dagger had been thrust into his heart. Once again, he was a defeated man. How could he not be? He knew right from wrong. He was a man of his principles. It was how he was raised. He might not have been given the Stark name, but it was still his family. It made him who he was. His true name didn’t matter. What he was made of did. Honor, duty … it meant everything. _Didn’t it?_

But what happened when duty and honor were at war with duty and honor of another kind? Where does loyalty reside then? Where does love? What is good and what is bad then? He didn’t know. He only knew that as many times as he’d been chosen to do what was right, he’d never failed to heed the call—no matter the cost. But this? _No._ The cost was too high. He could not. He would not. It was impossible.

“How do you know?” he begged, uncaring of the tears that fell down his face. “How do you know what’s good?”

“Because I know what is good,” she said. “And so do you.”

“No, I don’t,” he cried, shaking his head. _And so do you. You know what is good._ Jon closed his eyes against it, desperate to block it out.

Dany grabbed his shoulder, pulling him closer, forcing him to look at her once more. “You do. You do! You’ve always known.”

Her palm fell on his chest, and he wanted to fall into her and forget everything. But he couldn’t. Duty and honor would not let him.

“What about everyone else?” He fleeting considered Sansa and Arya and Tyrion and so many others. “All the other people who think they know what’s good?”

_Tell me you’ll reason with them. Tell me we’ll find a better way. Please, Dany. Please._

This feeling was worse than being stabbed in the heart. It was worse than growing up without a mother’s love, living in a household where he had no place, and a world where he’d known no name beyond bastard. This was an agony for which there was no end. Regret, fear, hatred for himself, guilt. The flame of these emotions burned and burned and burned within him, until he prayed she would see the truth and end his torment. Right now, he would welcome death, welcome the sweet oblivion.

The cold expression returned to her face. “They don’t get to choose.”

His blood ran cold. Jon knew what that meant, could see it all playing out in front of him. His family, so many innocents, everything he loved and held dear … fallen under the weight of Daenerys Stormborn’s breaking of the wheel. _No._ He took a deep breath and allowed her to raise his hand to cradle her cheek.

“Be with me” she pleaded. “Build the new world with me. This is our reason. It has been from the beginning since you were the little boy with the bastard’s name and I was the little girl who couldn’t count to twenty. We break the wheel … together.”

Jon felt nothing now. The judgment was made. There were no choices, no compromises to this. The sentence was clear. He’d been fooling himself to think otherwise. At this moment, he was no longer a man. He was a tool, meant to serve a function.

_The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword._

“You are my queen, now and always,” he vowed.

He captured her lips beneath his own, and she welcomed him home. The passion rose between them as it always did, as it always had, and Jon knew he would spend the rest of his life loving this woman. She was right. He did know what was good. He’d always known. But he couldn’t lie to himself about it any longer.

He moved his arm and thrust home the blade he’d kept so carefully hidden. There was a soft hiss and a jolt of surprise before she broke the kiss and pulled away. Dany looked down, but his gaze remained locked on her, watching the riot of emotions play across her face. Surprise, confusion, pain, and finally, betrayal. He refused to look away, no matter how much he wanted to. _No._ He would watch this. He would watch the life leave her. That was his punishment, a punishment that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

He’d killed himself as much as her. No one would ever know that or even believe it, but that didn’t make it any less so.

Dany gasped and looked up as if she might speak. He strained to hear her, but before she could utter a sound, she collapsed at his feet. He went down with her, hugging her dying form next to him. Her breaths became ragged as the emotions continued to churn on her face. Confusion, betrayal, pain, betrayal, anger, betrayal. She gasped again and he wanted nothing more than to hear her voice just one more time. But it was not to be. The ragged, gasping breaths did not fade into one, soft exhale as one might expect. They just ended mid-breath. It felt wrong. Hope rekindled in his heart. It wasn’t over yet. She wasn’t dead. That couldn’t be it, could it? She would speak again surely. This couldn’t be the end.

But she didn’t, and she never would again. His beloved was dead. The tiny lines of blood that ran from her mouth and nose confirmed that. His beloved was dead and by his hand.

The flames that had previously licked at his soul grew into a raging inferno he knew would never be snuffed out. He understood what it was to be a Targaryen for the first time in his life. He wanted to pull the sun from the sky. He wanted to scream at the heavens. He wanted to burn the world to ash until it felt as empty and barren as he did.

But, in the end, he did none of those things. Because, where it counted, he wasn’t anymore a Targaryen than he’d ever really been a Stark. No, he was and always would be Jon Snow. And Jon Snow didn’t do those things. He merely accepted his duty, held his beloved in his arms, and sobbed.

**Author's Note:**

> There. Fixed it.
> 
> To my regular readers: Yes, I will be updating Return Engagement soon. (Next week, likely.)
> 
> To everyone else: Sorry. This had to be done. It was driving me nuts.


End file.
